A New Resident In Paradise
by Kasey Clark
Summary: Every night Jenny would sit in her bed and imagine her hero. A tall muscular man who would one day resue her from the life she was doomed to live.
1. A Secret Uncovered

**A/N: Jenny grew up in a broken family. What happens when, after finding old photgraphs, she learns there is past in her life that she never knew of?**

**Chapter 1: A Secret Uncovered**

Rays of golden sunlight beamed down on seventeen year old Jenny Harlem. Her long brown locks caught the sun and reflected it to anyone near. Her arms swung lightly by her side, one holding loosely unto her basketball bag.

"Home sweet home," she mumbled quietly as she approached the gate to her small two bedroomed house. For years it had been in disaray, abandoned when the owner died. Jenny's mother was in desperate need for a house and chose this one spur of the moment. Taking a long look at the overgrown weeds and drooping trees, Jenny's spirit sank.

Practice had gone excellent. She had managed to learn the drill Coach Barr had gone over quickly, although, as team captain, that was expected.

As her sneakers stepped easily up the broken wooden steps to the front door, Jenny heard her stepfather's voice yell through the screen.

"You're late!" Jeb's slurred words met Jenny's ears. It angered Jenny that she could become so depressed in less than a minute after she stepped into her home life. Pulling on the broken screen with one pink painted fingernail, she walked into the dark living room. Sitting, with only sweats and a t-shirt on, was the man of the house, remote in one hand, and Miller in the other.

"No, I'm not. I told Mom practice was until five thirty this afternoon," Jenny covered the disdain in her voice with practiced calm. If she was lucky, Jeb would go back to the Walker Texas Ranger marathon and leave her alone.

"Your mom didn't say you were late, I said it. You were supposed to be home at five to cook me dinner." Jeb's eyes remained locked on the ten inch television screen. All the teenager saw of him behind the recliner was his thinning black hair, matted down by a filthy Yankee's cap.

"I can make you something now, what do you want?" Jenny was still holding her bag tight, remembering the last time she had left it out. Jeb had barged into her room at midnight, pulling her out of bed and forcing her to clean every inch of the house. He told her it would teach her to become more responsible with not dropping her shit at any place she wished.

"I have to be at the mill at six, you don't have time to cook."

"Well did you already eat?"

A grunt. Jenny walked into the yellow colored kitchen and searched the freezer for something simple to make. Being in that room disgusted her. It was beyond small, with only enough room for a round wooden table and matching chairs. On the oppisite side of the wide opening was a thin door, its white paint peeling. Not that it mattered. Jeb had padlocked it closed a year ago, when, in drunken stupor, he believed Jenn was sneaking out of it.

Finding two hot pockets Jenny threw them on a plate and pushed them into the microwave. The oven was seldom used. Her mom never learned to cook and Jenny rarely had time to prepare anything. Thus, the microwave became home to their t.v. dinners and soggy Cambell's soups.

"What the hell are you doing, girl?" Jeb had entered the kitchen, leaning on one of the chairs for support.

"Making you a hot pocket. I don't want you going into work hungry," Jenny answered, staring at the cooking food.

"Please, bitch, you'd love for me to starve to death. Don't lie to me." Jeb's heavy stature loomed over Jenny, his shadow covering the wall ahead.

"No, I don't Jeb. Now here," she pulled the chipped and cracked plate out of the microwave and shoved it towards her stepfather. "Eat up."

Standing in place a moment longer, Jeb's hunger overruled his stubborness, and he agreed without agruement, grabbing hold of his dinner and walking back to the living room.

Jenny said a silent prayer of thanks that he hadn't chosen to put up a fight, like usual. She had a game coming up on Friday and didn't need new bruises on her arm, the ones from last weekend were bad enough.

"When's Mom getting home?" Jenny asked, heading to her bedroom, without dinner.

"Nikki didn't say, but I'm guessing late."

"Great," she said inside her head. Her mother worked her butt off waitressing six nights a week to rude truckers and dirty bikers. Although Jenny missed her mom, she wasn't sad that she was gone so often. Her mother knew what Jeb did to her, knew the pain he caused, and yet didn't do anything. She insisted it would get better. One day it would get better.

Walking into her only haven away from the basketball court, Jenny threw her bag into the corner and fell heavily unto her bed. The room wasn't much. But it contained all she'd ever owned. Her trophies, notes from her few friends, photos of her mother when she was young and they lived in Puerto Rico.

Picking up her phone she dialed her mother's cell phone, waiting patiently.

"Hello?"

"Mom?"

"Sweetie," Nikki's voice softened only slightly. There had been times, late at night, when she was attempting to fall asleep after an especially brutul night, Jenny wondered if her mother really wanted her. Jenny was smart enough to do the math and knew Nikki had been young when she was born, only a college student. Shortly after she moved them to Puerto Rico, and when Jenny was twelve married Jeb. Although her mom never said it, the girl knew it was for his money only. Jeb owned the only surviving mill in Bunsburrow and brought in a wealthy sum. Unfortunatly, he saved it all under his name alone and wouldn't give a penny to Jenny or Nikki.

"Hey, Mom, are you busy?" Jenny abstendmindly twirled a piece of her medium length curly brown hair. A habit she had picked up from some unkown sourse.

"Uh, kind of, you'll have to make this quick."

"Okay, no problem. Um, I know I spend up most of my time with basketball and I understand you need me around the house, but there is this new art class at the community center near school. It's only on weekends and I promise I'll keep up with my chores if you let me do this."

A loud sigh came through the phone. Jenny could feel defeat only inches away and it angered her. Ever since she was little she loved to draw. Pencil, watercolor, paint, it didn't matter, she used anything she could find. Her mother had tried to stop the artwork early on. When Jenny had showed her a painting of the two of them in front of a big house, Nikki had taken the drawing and threw it away. It had broke Jenny's heart, but taught her to toughen up. As the years passed by Jenny learned to only draw in her school notebooks, during class when the teachers babbled on.

"Jen, you know I already spend so much on basketball. Forget it. You chose to be an athlete, not an artist. Which, by the way, was the smart decision. Artists don't get anywhere in life."

"Yeah, whatever," Jenny had rolled unto her stomach and was holding her thin pillow under her chin.

"Don't say that to me, young lady, I am your mother. Now, if you want me to be able to pay this month's electricity you have to let me go do my job."

"Alright, see you later."

"Bye Jen, make sure you don't stay up too late doing homework."

Both hung up the phone, ending their disasterous conversation. Jenny was on the verge and knew doing the very thing her mother had turned down would only help her get over the evening.

-----

Two hour later, the moonlight from the night sky shown through Jenny's small window, illuminating her simple drawing. It was almost identical to the ones she always drew.

Her real father. She knew nothing about him. Her mother refused to show any photos or pictures of him. She claimed he was a horrible man, and that he did things so horrendous, nobody should have to learn about them.

Jenny spent nights thinking about him. She imagined him to be a hero. A man who would save her from the life she lived. One day he'd be waiting for her on her front porch. His body would be tough and strong. Jenny knew she had to get her strong willedness from him. She wasn't sure if he was dark haired, but it never mattered, she rarely drew in color. Mostly it was black and white.

An idea began to rise in Jenny's head as she stared at the man on her paper holding a young girl in his arms protectively. Determination seeped through the girl. At that moment, between her anger and fear and her feeling of defeat she wanted to know the truth. She wanted to know who her father was. Even if was only a name. It was a name she could cry out for in the middle of the night. A name she could proudly use when someone asked who her real father was.

Getting up Jenny made her way to Nikki's and Jeb's bedroom. Her 5'8'' body despised the room, refused to enter it, and that was exactly why Jenny knew any information her mother had would be in there.

Opening the cracked door slowly, she almost tripped over an overstuffed laundry basket, only to step on one of Jeb's shoes. The room looked as if a toranado had passed through, with clothes and blankets thrown hapazardly throughout the floor of the room.

After searching the room with her soft green eyes, Jenny decided to look in the closet for anything of importance. There was nothing but more clothes and more shoes.

Moving on to the bedstand, all that was in there were magazines and old letters from friends in puerto Rico.

Frustrated, Jenny slid down the side of the bed, her nerves beginning to come back. She was afraid that Jeb would come home early and find her there, snooping through their stuff. Looking around she ran a hand through her hair, then dropped it down.

She squeked slightly as realization dawned on her. The bed. The queen sized bed. Large enough to hide dark secrets. Large enough to hide her past seventeen years of life.

Reaching one of her long arms down under the box springs and mattress, Jenny felt a cardboard box. Pulling it out she discovered it was only an old shoe box, torn away at the corners from old age.

Pulling off the top Jenny gasped at what she saw. On top was a framed photgraph of her mother seventeen years earlier. Her stomach was the size of a balloon, and she was smiling widely. Next to her, his feet buried in brown sugar sand was a man. A boy, really. He looked about her age, with a head fully of shaggy brown hair and a matching smile.

Instantly, Jenny knew that man, that boy, was her father. His soft green eyes and the way he held his face matched hers precisely. They were on some sunny beach, where, Jenny had no idea.

After five minutes of staring deeply at the male, Jenny finally decided she'd had enough and set the frame down. It freaked her out how similar her drawings were of him. The comparison was too close for comfort.

The next item in the box was a newspaper clipping. On top was a photograph of a basketball team, and in the back row Jenny spotted the same man.

"The Tree Hill Ravens go out with a bang as former player Dan Scott leads team to a loss in the first game of play-offs. Lucas Scott missed the three pointer by only centimeters, thus ending the score with a difference of two. Dissapointed Coach Whitey promises next season they will win the coveted state championship title," Jenny read, in a state of confusion. She had no idea where Tree Hill was, but knew it was her mother and father's old hometown.

Placing the article down also, she picked up a pink rattle. Emotions began to overwhelm the girl. She was so close to knowing where the rattle came from, yet had no clue. Large, salty tears formed in her eyes and slowly, one by one fell down her smooth face. It seemed wrong that her mother had kept all this from her. Her biological father couldn't honestly be as horrible as he seemed, she had been happy with him during the pregnancy, and he was a star athlete.

Retrieving the last item in the box, Jenny couldn't prevent herself from saying, "Oh my god."

It, too was a cutout from a magazine. The once whitebackground looked slightly grayer, but the picture was still intact.

"People always leave," Jenny read slowly, staring deeply into the drawing of a stoplight, with special focus on the red light.

Jenny sat there for what seemed an eternity, moving from object to object, trying to piece the puzzle together. She had yet to know the name of her father, but she had something better. An image. A picture for her mind to view as she cryed herself to sleep at night.

"But he's so young," Jenny said breathlessly. She didn't remind herself that the picture was over a decade old, and now the boy had become a full fledged man. All she imaged were the guys at her school, all of them in the same position as her own father.

Hours later, when she sensed her mom would come home soon, she replaced all the objects back in their proper places and snuck back to her room, burying herself deep into her covers. Seeing the picture she had made ealier in the evening, the knowledge of their likeness came rushing back. Jenny knew deep down that something as real as that wasn't coincidence. No one could match a face that perfectly. She had to have seen him before in her life. Had to have met him long enough to chisel his face into memory.

With those thoughts for company she fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of basketball and her true dad.

**tbc...**


	2. The Worst Day Since Yesterday

**A/N: First of all, I'm sorry that this has taken me so long. I had a horrible case of writer's block over the summer, but I hope to update more regularly now. **

**This fanfic began before season 3 ended, therefore I am excluding what happened between Peyton and Jake. In this story none of the Tree Hill residents had seen or talked to Jake after he left Season 2. **

* * *

The temperture following Jenny's discovery was a cold one. Frost had gathered on the ground, while trees stood bare in yards. Jenny woke up shivering underneath her blankets. It wasn't until she had quickly thrown on a pair of worn jeans and a sweater that she remembered all that had happened to her. Memories raced through her mind. The photo, the newspaper clipping, all caused a rush of emotions inside her.

"Jen, are you getting ready?" a voice at Jenny's door asked. The seventeen year old came to, and saw her mother's head peaking through the cracked door. Jenny stared hard. For the first time in her life she realized how little she resembled Nicki. Her hair was thin and extremely dark, her eyes a murky brown, her body a smaller frame than her own.

"Yeah, I'll be ready in a sec," Jenny replied, withdrawn. A small amount of anger bubbled inside her. Another glance at her mom and the knowledge that she had hidden information about her father all those years resurfaced. Jenny wanted desperately to ask Nicki right there, right in the center of her bedroom, with the cold morning light shining through the thin curtains, why. Why she had that shoebox full of memories under her bed. Why she never showed them to her own daughter. What she felt when she stared at them? What pain it caused?

But the clock on her wall reminded Jenny that she had no time to start any arguements. Coach Barr had informed the team if they missed any school before the big game that weekend they'd have hell to pay.

With one more look from her mother, Jenny finished putting on her makeup and threw her hair into a messy bun. She looked through her closet trying to find last fall's coat, only to remember Jeb had thrown it away one spring morning.

"Guess I'll settle for a sweater," Jen grumbled, grabbing her backpack and basketball bag and walking out of the house.

* * *

The first half of the day went as usual. English and Calculus left Jenny in a light nap, and Spanish and Physics allowed her to scribble on scratch paper for two hours. Throughout the morning, images of pink rattles and stoplights crept into her mind. She could never control when she thought about them. One moment she would be reading Wuthering Heights, and on the next line would appear "People always leave." It was as if she were stuck in a horrible tornado, her heart stealing and ruining her very own mind.

By the time the lunch bell rang, signaling the end of class, Jenny had no apatite. She wanted nothing more than to go to the gym and shoot hoops. Jenny had made it halfway to the girl's locker room before her good friend Tucker stopped her. Tucker was a senior,like her, and spent his entire life with his nose in textbooks. With natural good looks and the motor skills to play any sport he wanted, he was accepted by most the students, despite his solid 4.0 GPA.

"Hey, so guess who sent in their application to Auburn this morning?"

"It's about time. You only talked about it for a month," Jenny responded, attempting to think of excuses to leave.

"What's up with you today? You didn't meet me at my locker, and were about to ditch me at lunch," Tucker asked, punching his friend in the arm.

Jenny took her eyes off the hallway floor. She had known Tucker since seventh grade, he was the only person that knew about Jeb and his abusive side, yet for some reason hesitated to confide in what she had found last night.

"C'mon, Jenny, you know you can tell me anything."

"I know, I know," Jenny nodded, a strand of brown hair falling into her face, "It just hasn't even processed in my brain, I'm not sure I could explain it."

"Is it about Jeb? Did he do something again?"

They had made it to the gym. Both watched through windows on the door the kids inside. They all seemed content, not a worry in the world.

"No, for once, this doesn't have anything to do with him." Stealing another look at one of her teammates landing a three pointer, Jenny took a deep breath. "No, this time it's about my real dad."

Tucker showed no sign of surprise. For as long as he'd known Jenny, she talked about her father. She would spend hours over the phone, telling him imaginary stories where her and her dad would live in a big city and play basketball all day.

"I found a picture of him. I know what he looks like, Tucker."

The senior stared in awe, hardly believing his ears.

"He looks just like me. He has the biggest green eyes I've ever seen, and he played basketball. He's everything I dreamed he was."

"Jen...I-I don't understand."

Jenny smiled, "I found some stuff in an old shoebox. Stuff about my past."

Before Tucker could respond, the bell rang. Students began pouring through doors and fighting their way towards lockers. One bumped into Tucker, murmuring a fake apology.

"I've got to go to Government, but I'll talk to you tonight," Jenny said, turning away from her best friend, and making her way to the next wing.

* * *

"C'mon, am I coaching teenage girls or old women? Ashley, if you don't start rebounding some of those shots you can sit on the bench, and Jenny, the ball is supposed to go in the net, why don't you start trying it!" Coach Barr screamed from the sidelines. The man was pushing fifty, with a balding head and a stare that could scare grown men.

"Listen up!" Barr yelled, letting his whistle hustle the girls near him. "You guys have a game in two days, and from what I've seen today, we're going to be the laughing stock of Bunsburrow. Now I don't know about you, but I want to get to playoffs."

The players listened attentively, trying their best not to get the coach more riled up. "Harlem, in Coach Taylor's office, tell him you need some advice."

"Advice?" Jenny replied, her voice short. She had began practice expecting to let off the steam building inside her. Instead she was playing worse then ever before. Her team was understanding the first two turn overs, but eventually they became short tempered and aggravated. It seemed like when the captain had an off day, the enitre team took a beating.

"You need advice on how to shoot a basketball!" Jenny glared at Barr. In her four years on the team, she had never been sent to the assistant coach's office. It seemed worse than being sent to the principal. Coach Taylor was nice enough person, but something from his past left him bitter and withdrawn. He had been on staff for seven years, and yet showed no intention of changing his position from assistant coach.

Walking into the chilly office sent a chill through Jenny's spine. The room was painted a dreary gray, with two plastic chairs in front of a wooden desk. Behind the desk was Coach Taylor, his large body leaning over, a pair of glasses hanging low in the man's nose.

"Coach, I got sent to see you," Jenny rapped on the open door. Looking at the whiteboard on one of the side walls, Jenny saw a new play drawn out.

"Sit down," Taylor responded without taking his eyes of his paper. After a few minutes, he looked up, crossing his dark arms. "You know when players get sent here, they usually get cut from the team."

Jenny raised her eyesbrows, panic filling her soul. "Um, sir, I-I...why would I?"

Suddenly a smile broke on the stern features of Coach Taylor. "I'm just messin' with you, Jenny. You're the team captain, and probably the best player in Alabama. I just wanted to get you on edge alittle bit."

Jenny smiled. "Thanks. But I have to ask, why, exactly am I here?"

"Your Physics teacher told Coach Barr you were drawing in class. You left this in there," Taylor handed a piece of paper to Jenny. It was a pencil sketch of her father, in the center was him, his feet buried in the sand, and in the corner was stoplight.

"I'm sorry, I should have been paying attention, but I have a B in that class and I understood what we were doing."

"Jenny, it's not that that got our attention." The coach frowned slightly. "It seems you understood all your classes. Because when I talked with your teachers, two other ones said they saw you drawing. And all of them had a stoplight. Wanna explain?"

The girl pulled on her basketball shorts. She had never had a one on one conversation with the hardened man before her, and to have something so personal in the air made Jenny uncomfortable. "What can I say? I love to draw. On the way to school I saw the light and got inspired."

"Where you inspired to write people always leave next to it?"

A silence fell upon the room. Teenager nor adult made any effort to speak. Taylor knew he had tread into a sensitive area, and realized if he wasn't careful, things could escalade.

"I know you live with Jeb Harlem. And I never see a mom at the games. You might have a bad home life, I mean, everyone knows Jeb's got a temper. And maybe this boy, you're with him and you had a fight. Either way, I just want you to know, Jenny, that I'm your Coach. You can talk to me. I want to help you. Because whatever issues you have outside of this gym, you're obviously bringing it on the court," Taylor gave Jenny a long look. The girl sat in shock. At that moment she wanted to tell the man across from her everything. Her mother's crappy parenting, her unknown father, her confused state. His speech had made her want to reach out for help, to give the burden of life to someone else for awhile. But reality soon took over, and shook her out of that dream world.

"My mom works so I can go to college. And that boy's not my boyfriend, he's just a guy. And since when can't a person write what they want, why does there have to be some deep dark secret behind every letter. If there's not anything more, I'd like to get back to practice. I need to make sure I'm top notch Friday."

The assistant coach nodded once, lowering his head slowely. Jenny picked up her drawing and walked briskly out of the office, not looking back to see Taylor rubbing his forehead vigourasly.

The rest of the afternoon passed normally. As the sun began fading on the horizon, sending red and oranges through the sky, Jenny made her way home, fearing what nightmares would greet her doorstep.


	3. Ammunition

**A/N: Thanks to all that reviewed, I appreciated it. I just wanted to say that some of the things I mentioned in here are fictious. I made a guess when it comes to the Google part. **

**And for any of those wondering, the main One Tree Hill characters will be mentioned eventually, just be patient.

* * *

**

Shining lights and the draft of cold wind against her face woke Jenny from her sleep. One swift look at the clock revealed she had overslept her alarm and would be late for school if she didn't hustle. With sleep still in her eyes, Jenny threw together a decent enough outfit and headed for the bathroom. Taking one good look at herself, she realized she couldn't afford to stay up half the night staring at pictures of her father.

Grabbing a pop-tart on the way out the door, Jenny said a silent prayer of thanks Jeb was still asleep. She had managed to stay out of his range of fury for most the evening, with the execption of having to wash one of his uniform pants.

"Hey, look who decided to get up this morning! C'mon, we gotta shag ass or we'll miss first block," Tucker greeted Jenny from the sidewalk.

Jenny crossed her arms, the weather had become all the more colder overnight and her light pullover was not keeping the chill out. Sensing Jenny's state, Tucker handed over his hoodie and continued.

"So I thought about what you told me last night."

The girl became confused. The previous evening had consisted of Jenny delving into every detail of her findings to Tucker. The two had spent close to an hour discussing what the news meant, and Tucker had openly admitted he had no idea how to handle such a situation.

"Do you remember what that one thing was- in the box...the newspaper clipping?"

Slightly more puzzled, Jenny replied, "Yeah, there was a clipping about a basketball game. My dad was in the photo."

"Yeah, yeah," Tucker responded, excited. "Do you remember what it said?"

At that Jenny laughed. They had made it to student common area of the school, and had managed to find an open bench. Staring at the multitude of students pass before them, Jenny said, "How could I not? I practically have it memorized. It had to do with this high school team losing the playoffs."

"Do you remember the school name?"

Jenny frowned. The lack of sleep and the remembrance of an English quiz put her in an impatient mood. She wasn't sure if she could play 20 questions at the moment. Her hands shuffling through her backpack, she grabbed a textbook and stood up.

"Jenny?" Tucker followed suit.

"Tuck, I don't have time for this. I have a big game tomorrow and if I make one more bad grade on a quiz I might be benched. I already have enough things to worry about, I don't know if I can handle you dumping your crzy theories on my plate too. I'm sorry," giving the boy a swift hug, Jenny walked towards the main entrance to the school.

"Can you just meet me in the library at lunch?" Tucker yelled after her, looking dissapointed. With only a curt nod as an answer both headed in different directions.

* * *

"Explain to me again why I'm wasting perfectly good practice time in here?" Jenny asked, setting her things on one of the tables in the library. Brushing a strand of hair from her face, Jenny watched as Tucker moved to a nearby computer.

Jenny wasn't sure if she should follow. One impatient glare from Tucker gave her an answer.

"So, for pretty much as long as I've known you, you've wanted to find out about your dad," Tucker began as Jenny pulled up a chair. "Well, now that you actually found something, we can use the information."

Jenny didn't respond. Her mind was still comprehending what she had just heard. The mere idea of knowing her true father was mindboggling, it seemed as if the past two days were just a fantasy.

"Hey, type in the name of that basketball team," Tucker tapped Jenny's shoulder, bringing her out of her thoughts and back to the current situation.

"Google? Seriously, Tuck, for someone so smart, I wonder sometimes."

Tucker shot yet another glare, "Go ahead and laugh, but I didn't see you running in here with ideas."

Jenny knew her friend was right. She hated to admit that the thought of researching her findings never crossed her mind, but now that the idea was planted, the girl could hardly wait.

After typing Tree Hill into the search database, Jenny felt her heart stop for a moment. The hourglass had never seemed to last as long as it did that five seconds. Jenny knew, as she waited for the top findings to appear, that something big was about to come. Her entire life was about to be forever changed by what she was about to read. It was as if she were caught in the forethcoming of a storm. She could feel the dry air and sensed the crispness before the first drop of rain.

"Wow, looks like your old pop came from a pretty active place," Tucker turned to Jenny, his finger on the screen. "Twelve thousand findings."

"Yeah, but about ninety percent of them are pure junk," Jenny said, attempting not to get her hopes raised too high.

"True, but read the first one."

Jenny moved closer to the computer. "Tragedy has struck the citizens of Tree Hill on this fateful morning..." The girl's green eyes shot up. "It says its from the local newspaper." She reached for the mouse and clicked the link, her heart rate increasing.

"When the page opened, Jenny paniced. On the top of the page was a photograph of a high school. The building was a plain white, with a sign in front reading, "Tree Hill High School." "Tucker, I can't read it. I can't..."

Tucker embraced Jenny's hand. He felt her sweaty palm and observed her shaky posture. "Here, I'll read it. Just calm down, okay?"

Jenny closed her eyes.

"Tragedy has struck the citizens of Tree Hill on this fateful morning. Everything seemed to be going per schedule until the first bell rang in the imfamous Tree Hill High today. Tree Hill is commonely known for its outstanding athletics department and more recently for its pop sensation student, Haley James. But no one expected gun shots to fill the halls where pupils were preparing to start the day.

'It's such a tragedy. You always hear about these things in the news, but you never believe it could happen at your school.' These were words most families were saying this afternoon. Once the first shot was fired, several students were locked inside what has come to be known as the tutor center with the attacker.

More than an hour passed before two more rounds of gunshots were heard through the deserted halls. The boy, whose name we cannot disclose, shot well-known Keith Scott, brother of Mayor Dan Scott, and then, fatefully took his own life.

This day will stay in the hearts of everyone in the town forever, and teenagers will never view going to school the same way again."

Tucker concluded his reading with a long sigh. Eyes still closed, Jenny asked, "What about the first round? Did he hit anyone?"

Tucker scrolled to the last bit on the webpage. "Uh, yeah, actually. It says a 'Peyton Sawyer' was shot in the left foot."

Another long sigh, only this time from Jenny. She wasn't positive on how to take in what she had just heard. A part of her was happy that Tree Hill was real, that the rattle and the drawing weren't just a delusion. Another part of her, a hungry, desperate part, wanted to know more. The stories and headlines were like an addiction. Jenny wanted her fix, she needed to know more. She needed to suck up all this extranious information to fill the hole inside her. The hole that had been there all her life. It grew deeper every minute Jenny was without her dad, and after hearing the article, it ached more than ever.

"Do you want me to print this out for you?" Tucker had watched Jenny change from anxious into a fairly dark, determined person. He had never seen someone want something as bad as she did. The fire in her eyes, only partially matched the fierceness of her whole being.

"Will you? I really want to keep it." Jenny gave a crooked smile. "And, Tucker," Tucker looked up from the screen. "Thank you. Just having that little bit of information was eating me up inside. I really needed this. I mean, I've waited seventeen years for all of this. An escape, a knowledge that their is someone out there. It's given me hope."

Tucker smiled softly. Watching Jenny grab her books from the spot she'd left them, he frowned slightly. Something had changed. He tried to deny it yesterday, but as he took another glance at the girl leaving the library, he faced the realization that Jenny was not going to be held back. She was like a dog being penned up. After a certain while, the dog begins to fight it. No matter how hurt they become in the process, they'll reach freedom, or die trying.

Tucker just hoped Jenny didn't stray too far. A father who stranded her as a baby, and, who, in his opinion, was a no good scumbag, didn't deserve to ruin his daughter's life a second time.

**tbc...**


End file.
